The journal of Patrick R. Fuller
26 December 2006
Today is the day after Christmas. Yesterday was my 20th consecutive Christmas behind bars. At the beginning I would decorate my entire cell for Xmas. When I was in horticulture at Vacaville I would even have a wreath made from pine I had smuggled back to my cell. I loved the smell it gave my cell. I was always in the Christmas spirit then. There would be Christmas cards all over the walls, I would be cheery, definitely in the spirit of Christmas. I longed to be with my family and loved ones. I used to love this time of year. I don't know what happened, but now it doesn't mean much to me, I miss being with my family, but I don't even believe that my family would be comfortable around me now. Too much time has passed.
When I was a child, growing up the entire extended family would come over to my house for the holidays. My father was always an ass and made it almost unbearable. My mother would be totally wrapped up in preparing an entire meal. My grandmother would be on the couch in front of the fire that would always be there. The family dog and cat would be with grandmother. No one ever seemed completely comfortable. Dad would be in his chair watching various sports on TV. None of the family would be getting along. Mom would frantically be getting the meal prepared while trying to be friendly. There would always be some sort of event where dad would act an ass and embarrass the entire family. It was mandatory for all family members to at least make an appearance and eat something. During my childhood I never felt comfortable for these family events, but now that I am an adult I miss them greatly. Now grandmother is dead as well as dad. The family no longer has these family gatherings and it bothers me that they don't even try. When my grandmother was alive she taught each of us that family came first and that you should always be there for each other. Now the family barely stays in touch and it breaks my heart.
I have spent the last 20 years behind bars and family means more to me than I ever believed possible, but there are family members who do not write me and it breaks my heart. I understand that it was my choice to put me in the predicament that I am in, but I did not realize how it would affect the loved ones that are - or were - a part of my life.
My closest friend throughout my adolescence - Cindy - kept in touch with me for more than 15 years. She is more like a sister to me than a friend. Just about a year ago she wrote me and told me that she could no longer keep in contact with me because our lives have gone in separate directions. She admitted to me that she was mad at me for being locked up because I was taken from her. I never looked at it from her point of view. I had always been there to help her. Now I'm not there for her. She has adopted children that I do not know. She loves me but cannot accept the life that I have. It hurt me deeply, but I understood. It's hard on her each time she hears from me. Especially when I had to inform her that I was stabbed at Pelican Bay. She felt helpless. I still write her from time to time because she will always be in my heart - though I never hear from her. It hurts.
My sister Colleen no longer writes me. She never was what one might call - a letter writer - but she got to the point where she would not even open my letters and read what I had written. She said she wouldn't read my letters because they made her feel guilty for not writing me. I really don't understand her because if I were to talk to her on the phone she would act like nothing was wrong and she would tell me just how much she misses me and how much she loves me. She acts like there is nothing wrong with our relationship, but how could there be nothing wrong when she won't even open the letters I send her. It hurts me deeply that I cannot continue a relationship with her because she won't keep in touch with me. We used to be so very close.
12 February 2007
All my life I have fought depression. Lately the fight doesn't seem that important to me. I try to find small things in my life to give me the strength to keep fighting. Music is a huge escape for me. I can play the CDs and actually leave my problems behind. Mail is a huge "pick-me-up." This past weekend I was deep into my depression and the thoughts of suicide were filling my every thought. I have suicide many times. There were many times when I was just desperately reaching out for a helping hand, but there a few times when I had honestly just given up and wanted to cross over to a better world than this one.
Luckily each time "something" had stopped me from leaving this world. Just this past weekend it was something small that gave me a ray of hope. Someone I do not know (Mary F.) had read my journal and wrote me a short letter, telling me she enjoyed reading what my thoughts are and she hopes I continue.
This may sound like such a little thing, but it actually brought tears to my eyes, knowing that someone was touched by my writing and felt compelled to write me something. It actually opened my mind up to thinking that I may write something to help someone out there.
Every time I have been at my lowest I have always thought of others whose life is worse than mine. Yes, my life is low-I am obese, spent over 20 years behind bars, have allowed myself to be in many abusive relationships, and have lost almost all contact with the outside world. All of my friends have abandoned me over the many years I've been incarcerated. I have very few family members who I am able to contact. There are only two who I can still rely on. Almost half my family has been behind bars. There is no one who I can rely on in here. A few years ago, three individuals attacked me and stabbed me while I was playing cards only because I would not follow the racist "prison politics." Yet, I know that my life is still better that many others in this world.
When my mind gets too many "unhealthy" (suicidal) thoughts, I try to divert its attention by doing cross word puzzles or just writing or listening to music. If I allow the thoughts to continue on their path, I will have let the thoughts win. Sometimes it feels as if it is a separate personality that is fighting for dominance. It scares me because I know that it can become too powerful and actually have its way, then I will no longer be.
I often wonder if that would be a bad thing. I will no longer be here, so my pain of existence will be over. However, the ones who do care for me would be the ones who suffer and I cannot allow-willingly-for anyone who I love to suffer because of my actions. Because I have done the things that I have done to have me incarcerated has already made my loved ones suffer needlessly. It took me a long time to understand how my actions that brought my incarceration actually hurt the people who loved me. I was very selfish back then. I would love to say that I have changed, I now try to think of others first, but I am not perfect.
19 February 2007
Mail is such a giant part of my existence. Receiving mail from someone actually makes me feel elated. However, on the opposite end, if I don't receive mail for a few days, I get very depressed. Why do I allow my mail to rule my moods at times?
I've always loved to write. I used to greatly enjoy writing short stories. Now my hands cramp up so bad, I am unable to do this. It would be so much easier if I were allowed to have a computer to write with. I often dream about the day I am able to leave this place and get a computer to use, and I can see myself prosper by writing short stories or maybe even a novel.
Over the past twenty years, everyone that has written me has lost contact. Most are unable to keep in touch because they are no longer able to relate to what my life has become. It hurt me deeply, but I can understand how they feel. The only ones that are still there are family members-mother and aunt. My sister stopped writing many years ago and has even stopped opening the letters I send her. She says it makes her feel guilty that she doesn't write. I stopped writing the letters that would never be opened. It broke my heart-and still does. We used to be so very close. When I do speak to her on the phone, she acts like nothing is wrong, but I believe our relationship has forever been changed. I am no longer able to look at her the same. Am I wrong for feeling this way?
My best friend, Cindy since junior high school, just two years ago wrote me and told me she can no longer relate to my predicament. It hurt me deeply. I know she was so very mad at me for coming to prison. It hurt her deeply. It took me quite a while to understand how much my incarceration hurt her. I am so sorry I hurt her. I love her and wish her nothing but the best in life. Our lives just went in different directions.
I try to stay in close contact with my aunt and mother. I greatly look forward to their letters. My mother doesn't write that often. We do talk quite a bit on the phone. I do try to write her at least twice a month though. It makes me feel good to connect to her. My aunt writes me great informative letters. She doesn't hold back. I love that. I can rely that she will be brutally honest with me and won't allow me to blow smoke up her ass. We have become quite close over the past few years. I greatly cherish her friendship.
I have learned over the years just how important it is to receive mail from someone-even if it's just to say "What's up?" It makes me feel that I am not alone in my solitude.
19 April 2007
This had been a very good week. For some reason I have been feeling very upbeat lately. Maybe it's because I have chose to change my outlook a little bit. I have refused to spend my time with negative people. I will not waste my energy on them. When me cellie starts talking negatively, I tell him I don't want to hear anything negative. If he keeps going on that path, I just put on my headphones. I think he has now gotten the hint.
I have received 2 beautiful letters from Prisoner Express. (Thank you Elizabeth and Yvonne). It's great to get some feedback. It makes me feel as if I am not alone. I hope they realize just how those words have helped me and will continue to help. I will keep them and read them when I get down.
I do suffer from depression, but I will not allow it to dictate who I am. I can sit and dwell on it and use it as an excuse to just give up on life. Yes, I spent quite a bit of time doing just that. There are times in which I do need the medication, but I don't like to take it. Unfortunately this is common for those of us who are bio-polar. We feel fine so we stop taking our medications. Then we hit a "bump" and slide into a deep depression without realizing it. I know I should always take my meds, but the side effects are not nice. I now suffer from psoriasis because of the lithium I was taking which greatly helps my manic depression but makes me break out like crazy. The list of meds and side effects are almost endless. They always want to try something new on me.
My aunt just sent me a Discman so I can hear the CDs she and my mother have sent over the past couple of years. I cannot thank her enough for this. I do call her when I can. I hate to use the phone because there are always so many obstacles in the way, not to mention that many times I have conquered the obstacles and do get to the phone, I am not able to reach who I am trying to call. There are only 2 people I can callÑmy aunt and my mother. My aunt has come to visit me onceÑjust last year. My mother comes to visit maybe twice a year. If I could be moved closer to them they'd visit more, but as it is they drive maybe 3 hours to come see me. I hate that they have to travel so far just to see me. It makes me feel guilty to have them go through the trouble.
It's so hard to find someone that you can trust in here. You are usually closest to the one you share a cell withÑbut not always. I have been fortunate to find a couple of very close friends over the years. I had to leave one (transferred to another facility) in 1989. I still consider him my best friend. We do write but it's not the same as being able to spend some time with him. I love him dearly. He contracted HIV in 1989 and now has AIDS and is not healthy.
There is another one who was a a very dear close friend. Our families would visit together. We were separated in 2000. We barely write. The lat few years his mental illness has taken over and I can barely decipher his letters. I yearn for the return of the friend I once knew.
There are so many "predators" in prison and you always have to be "on your toes." If you show any weakness, they will pounce on you and manipulate you. I have learned to stay to myself. It's so sad that I have grown to not be able to trust anyone. I always have to wear this mask around the other prisoners. Because of my size (350 lbs, g' 1'' frame) most people leave me alone, but because I have "feminine" traits, there are those who try to take advantage.
I try to always have a smile on my face. I've learned that when I smile I can almost convince myself I am in fact happy. However, sometimes it is so tiring to keep this mask on me and it wears me out. I've learned not to allow anyone to know how I am feeling at any given time. Only I know how alone I feel in the midst of all these other people around me.
22 April 2007
I have now started an exercise routine. I have been putting off doing this until my Discman came. Now there's no excuse. My aunt sent me the CD player. I started off in the dayroom, just walking around with the headphones on. I started sweating rather quickly but I kept at it until my hips and knees couldn't take it any longer. 30-45 minutes was all I could do. I admit that it felt good. My legs and back hurt, but it was a good first step. The next day I went to the yard and walked around the track while zoning out to the music. It was great. So many people were amazed I was on the yard. It has been almost a year since I've been out there. The only problem I had was when I would walk near an officer, I would turn the CD off. I was terrified that they would say something and I wouldn't be able to hear it because of the music, then they would "rush" me and there would be an incident. This fear was great. I had to walk by them each lap, and the same trepidation would take control of my being. I had no other problems. In fact, it was nice being out there, socializing with everyone. I do plan to keep this upÑat least every weekend. I can't do it during the week because of my job.
My nephew's 11th birthday is in a week! I sent him a card already, but I don't know if he has received it. His mother (my sister) seems to "lose" my mail.
My mother has been bringing my nephew to visit me since he was born. How I wish I were able to really get to know the person he's becoming. He only knows me from the visiting room. We have never been able to really bond. He's a great kid and it bothers me that I have not been able to be a true uncle to him.
I am thankful that I never had any children of my own. I would have for my children to have to know me only through visits. What kind of relationship would that be? I've never had the desire to have a child. Most men want a son or something, like that is what makes them a man. A man provides for his children and teaches them ot make it on their own.
I didn't have much of a father figure. Mom was 7 months pregnant and married a man who gave me his name. he was her husband until he died. They had a very violent relationship. It was not a very good childhood, but many have had it worse. I hated him because of the character of person he was, yet I loved him because he was the only father I have ever known. Does anyone have a perfect relationship with their father? None of us are perfect.
I keep wanting to send Cindy a card or a letter, but what do I say? I miss her friendship so very much, but I love her and I want her to be happy in her life. I know that it hurts her, me being in here. Her life has changed so much in the past 20 years and she doesn't know how to relate to my life in here. It was shortly after I was stabbed at Pelican Bay State Prison that she told me that our lives have gone in different directions. I know that when that happened it scared her outright. Now it was brought to the surface of the reality of my world. How could I expect anyone to understand the world I am in? It just hurt so much because she was the last one of my friends who still wrote. One by one over the years they all stopped writing. How could I blame them? There were times when my life was nothing but depression. All I felt was despair. Maybe I should have lived and not let the, know just how I felt.
3 June 2007
I have spent most of the day writing letters to those who never ever write me back, but yet I keep reaching out to them. I often wonder why I even bother any longer. Shouldn't I have gotten the hint and just moved on? I guess some of us are just hopefully that they will be heard sometime by someone. I must keep trying to reach out to those I care about. I must let them know that I am thinking about them and that there is someone out there that actually cares about them in this world. I don't know where I would be if I ever truly believed that there was no one out there that actually cared about whether I lived or died. I have suffered from depression my entire life it seems. I keep trying to tell myself that it is something that is not my fault. I have no idea why I suffer from this, but I do know that I cannot allow it to take over my entire existence.
This week I received some CD's that I had asked my aunt to order for me. You will not believe how much music helps me through the rough spots. I am able to "escape" deom rhis environment while I am listening to the music. Music has always been my escape. I do remember when I was growing up and I would be in my room with the headphones on trying to void out the voices and shouting going on in the other room. I used to be able to actually picture myself floating out of the house and getting away from all of the madness. My musical tastes have changed through the years. I am now more into an R&B slow music that has soulful meaning. I love to hear a woman's voice. I believe that it soothes my savage spirit.
I have been typing for a neighbor lately. It is keeping me busy and out of trouble, and I do love to type. I wish I had a typewriter of my own. I am working on trying to achieve this goal as I am typing this. If all works out, I will have my very own typewriter in just a couple of months and I would have done it all by myself and not relied on anyone else for it.
I hate being in here and having to rely on my family and friends to support me with the things that I need in this place. They do not give us any decent salaries in this place. I can only make up to 37 cents an hour. That doesn't pay for anything in this place. There are some that don't have any family to rely on that will help them out. I am very fortunate that I have a family that does lend themselves to me. I don't think I would be able to survive all of these years if I didn't have the family support that I do have. Yes, the money and packages are very nice and greatly appreciated, but it is the moral support that I need the most. Sometimes I find myself just needing to hear the voice of a loved one.
This month is Father's Day. It brings tears to my eyes. My father, the one man who actually took the time to raise a child that wasn't his, was not a very nice man, some would say he was an ass. He did have some good characteristics. But he was not an easy man to get to know or get along with. He died a few years back and I didn't think that I would miss him as much as I do. I have wanted to get to know my real father, but have no idea as what to say to him or even how to find him. Should I even bother?
I am 43 years old and sometimes I feel as if I am still an infant. Why is that? Other times I feel as old as the hills. My body sure is tearing down on me. I have treated it horrible all my life. Now I am paying the price. There are so very many mistakes I have made in my lifetime. I will say that I have learned quite a bit in the years I have been here. Most of the things that my parents told me, as well as my grandmother told me, have come to pass. Why couldn't I have listened to them earlier and not had to learn the hard way? I guess that is just the way things are in the world.
I am always in awe as to how many people there are out in this world of ours that are unable to read and write. I ALWAYS took it for granted that everyone knew how to read and write, but I was ever so wrong. There are countless people who don't have a clue as to what is going on in this world because they are unable to read and write. My cellie is one of them and most of his family is the same way. It infuriates me that he is unwilling to learn. It would open the door to an entirely new life for him. We argue about it all the time
I am still in dire need of medical help in this place. They are getting away with murder by not giving us the proper medical treatment we need. I have done everything I can to get the attention I need, to no avail. The will not acknowledge the fact that I have sleep apnea and I do not get enough rest and I am always tired.
November 8th, 2007
I have just recently had my 44th birthday on 11-10-07. This was the 21st consecutive birthday I have had behind bars. This year I spent most of the day reflecting on my life. The 44 year old I am today is totally different than the 23 year old that I was when I first was arrested. The things that were so important to me then no longer matter at all to me. Isn't it strange how our perspectives change with time?
Where once all I wanted was material wealth, power, drugs, the party scene-now all I want to do is stay in the house, cook, clean and yes, I desperately want a garden to tend. What I once thought was boring, I now long for.
These past few months I have been in a deep down cycle of depression. I do my best to get myself out of it and I'm very good at "wearing a mask" in front of others. Because I have suffered from this bipolar disorder for most of my life, I have learned to hide my true feelings.
I try to keep myself busy doing things in order not to focus on my depression. Most people understand that I have plenty of reasons to be depressed but the depression I feel has nothing to do with my incarceration. It just comes out of nowhere and consumes my thoughts. It feels as though there are 2 separate beings within me fighting for dominance. The battle never ends, just keeps going on and on. I have started a new job as a Teacher's aide in the vocational automotive elective shop. We are starting the show from scratch. We have been getting the shop ready for students. It's not easy to do when we are not given the items necessary to get it all set up. I do find it a great challenge.